Collide Us
by TheWomanWhoCodesAndWrites
Summary: Los Angeles, Republic of America. In a city ridden with plague, lies, and political conspiracies, the lives of four young street criminals collide with those of five young soldiers. This is the story of their quest for truth, and of the past and present bonds between them. A Legend, THG, and Divergent crossover, set in Legend world. Iparing, Everlark, Johale, FourTris, Odesta.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Legend Trilogy and its characters belong to Marie Lu. The Hunger Games trilogy and its characters belong to Suzanne Collins. Divergent Trilogy and its characters belong to Veronica Roth. No profit was, is, and will be made from this fan fiction.

* * *

**Day**

My street 'Big Sister' is late for supper again.

Yeah, I know that she's four years older and strong. She'll mostly be fine, those strong throwing arms and that sass. She isn't our cracked friend Peet, who readily risks the only life he's got for complete strangers. She isn't our street 'Little Sister' Tess, who is more about bandaging wounds than fighting or escaping. I probably wouldn't get all nervous about this, if it weren't for the plague and the Plague Control sweeping the Lake Sector streets outside this rotten house.

"Does it taste crap?" Peet nudges me with a smile.

"Nope," I tell him, picking up the spoon I left in my bowl. I feel like a trot right now, checking out all of a sudden like that. Peet has kindly shared this tasty soup with Tess and I. I should just play a nice house guest and eat. And join him and Tess in their chatter, because only hell knows how lonely you can get when all you've got for company is goddy ol' 'Mitch. "It's goddy tasty."

Peet claps my back, and gets up from his chair. "I'll get you some more."

"Don't." I catch his wrist to stop him. "This should be enough. Thanks so much."

"Look, Daniel. I might be wrong, but I think you're losing weight." He carefully pulls his arm away, his blue eyes glancing over the three-legged table. "Do you think so, Tess?"

"Day's getting skinny." Tess nods across the table, her wide eyes set on me. "He's been having those..."

I shoot her a warning glare. It's too late, though. Peet has filled in the blanks himself. I see that brief look of concern in his eyes, a look he quickly masks with another kind smile. Peet knows all about my headaches. It was him whom I used to run to when I was younger, and new to the streets and the blinding headaches pounding the base of my skull.

"I won't tell Jo," he says a couple of seconds later, walking toward the kitchen. Like every other room in this house, the kitchen is old and dull. If it wasn't for Peet, I know it would be dirty too, the way ol' 'Mitch spends his days drinking and passing out in front of the television and chasing scrawny kids off his overgrown backyard. "You have my words."

"Keep it from Fin too," I say, remembering my 'Big Sister' Jo's best buddy, Fin. "We all know how good he is with..."

The door to the wine cellar swings open. We take deep breaths and brace for the worst, as two bleached-blond, short-haired figures tumble their way out, hissing at each other in a heated argument.

"You know what that means, Fin!" Jo gives the Dutch door a mighty push, slamming it hard against the frame. Peet, Tess, and I look at each other and wince as we feel the kitchen floor shaking. One does not simply judge Jo's strength by her size. "I don't care what your soldier lover's been telling you. I'm going to L.A. Central tonight."

"Johanna, chill!" Fin throws his arms in the air. His hair looks wind-ruffled. He must've chased Jo down the streets, probably after they'd had another argument earlier. "Give it a thought! You can't do that alone. They'll have Patrols all over the place, it's Batalla! Cool it down, alright?"

"Guys." Peet steps in, just in time to catch Jo's flying punch. He wedges himself between Jo and Fin, calm and composed and neutral. "Before we go on, what is this all about?"

"The plague." Jo frees her wrist from Peet's grasp, her eyes steely and cold behind her blue contacts. "It's all over the place. The Patrol..."

"Johanna." Fin shoots Jo a warning glare, a quiet fire in his sea-green eyes.

Jo stops. She takes a breath, blinks, and turns to me. "Your family."

_ My. Family._

I'm on my feet, before I realize I've knocked the rotten dining chair over and smashed it in two.

"Let's go talk." Jo strides toward the back door, not even waiting for me to recover. "They're not dead yet. We've got something to plan."

_They're not dead. There's still hope._

Still, my legs feel numb as I follow her, past Tess, Peet, and Fin who stare at us in silence. Jo opens the door for us, and I step out behind her, onto the holey wooden porch rimming the back of ol' 'Mitch's crumbling house. The rancid, cool Lake Sector autumn air wraps itself around me. I look at the dark sky above us through the man-sized hole in the awning, searching for an answer. I need to do something for my family. Even if my mother and my little brother, Eden, think I'm dead. Even when I don't know John, my older brother, the way I used to when we were younger. They are still my blood. And I still love them.

"I would've appreciated some help closing the door, thanks," I hear Jo's brash voice behind me, and the door clicking close.

"You've just told me my family is screwed," I sigh out, as I tail her down the rickety steps and into the jungle-like backyard. "What do you expect me to do? Thank Our Glorious Father, the Elector, for it?"

She halts and whirls around, and grabs the front of my shirt.

"_Focus._" She releases me and turns back to the leafy path. "We need an action plan, not some useless grief."

"I know," I run a hand on my white-blond hair. "It's just..."

Words fail me. I let my arms fall on my sides, and look down at the moonlit leaves on the ground.

"Kid." Jo's voice sounds heavy and thick. "Come here."

I don't even need to think about what she wants me to do. I close my eyes, and take those two steps toward her, into those tanned, wiry arms she's holding wide open for me.

"Everything will be fine," she whispers, as she locks her arms around me. Her hands run firm and gentle on my back, telling me more than her words ever could. "This is just a small obstacle, Danny. We'll raise above it. We've beaten greater odds."

I wrap my own arms around her, taking in our rare moment of affection. It's been a little bit too long since Jo had last let me hug her, and even longer since she'd last called me 'Danny'. She has quietly slipped out of her role as my big sister, slowly stepping back and becoming my friend instead. Perhaps this is how it would've worked in our birth families, too, if we hadn't failed our goddy Trials.

* * *

Until my tenth birthday - almost six years ago from now - I'd grown up in a normal family, here in the Lake Sector of Los Angeles, Republic of America. My family had - and has - never been more than poor, but they'd loved me and I'd loved them. My father had worked at the warfront, cleaning up after the perpetual war between the Republic and our eastern neighbor, the Colonies, before he died on the job. My mother worked - and still works - cleaning trash bins around our closest train station, the Union Station. I had a big brother and a little brother, and a dream of a future. I believed I would be able to raise above my humble roots like my mother had always hoped, to get a good score at my Trial and go to a high school and a college - or even a university.

But I failed. I failed with the lowest score the Republic had seen in years. The Republic took me away. They told my mother I'd been sent to a Labor Camp like I was supposed to and died of smallpox there. Sounds like a clean end, except that it wasn't my end. There is no Labor Camp. When you fail your Trial, you're sent to death - a quick one, a slow one via a secret laboratory at Los Angeles Central Hospital, or a slow one via whatever Jo went through.

It was Jo who found me on the streets, feverish and limping, after I'd narrowly escaped my slow death at the secret laboratory. She was fourteen back then, scrawny and sassy and somewhat haunted. I thought she would kill me and steal the few things I still had, but I was wrong. She took me here, to ol' 'Mitch's crumbling house, and bulldogged the old drunk into paying a black-market doctor to fix my leg. Once my leg was healed, there was no question of what I would do. I simply slinked out to the streets with her when I was well enough to walk.

"What's your name?" I asked her under the stars, on our first night on the streets as a team.

"... Jo." She fixed her eyes on the holey plaster wall across the alley, and pushed down her wristband to show me the 'M' and 'J' tattooed above a faint scar on her wrist. "Jo Mason."

"I had a brother called John," I told her, because her name reminded me of my big brother's.

"_Have,_" she corrected me, pulling her wristband back into place. "I know where you lived. Your family's still alive. And Kid, looks like there's fate after all. You know what Jo is short for?"

"Jo...anna?"

"Close." She smirked. "It's Jo_hanna_, with an 'h'."

* * *

"So." Jo pulls away, forcing me back to the present. "You wanna hear the full story?"

"Sure." I look to my right, at my favourite tree in this backyard. "Let's do it up there."

With the help of that kink at the bottom and a low hanging branch, I hoist myself onto the tree. As I shimmy my way up, I can hear the closest tree on my left rustling. The race to the top is on.

"I'll get up there before you," Jo's whispered taunt reaches my ears.

"Not that easily, Jo," I whisper back, picking up my speed. As fast as Jo is, she'll never beat me in this. She should've known this by now, but I guess Jo wouldn't be Jo if she admitted and accepted defeat readily.

"Or so you think?" Her whisper sounds way closer now. _Goddy hell. _I force my arms to reach further, my legs to kick harder, my lungs to stretch out each breath. At the end, I do beat her up there - but not by much.

"When did you get good at this?" I focus my eyes on her dark silhouette, catching my breath. Behind her and the trees, one of our sector's JumboTrons flash colorful lights and propaganda onto the night, oblivious - like this Republic - to all the fights and struggles happening under it.

"I have my ways." There's a smirk in her voice. The branches around her sway as she sits down. "Anyway. Ready for the story?"

I settle on the closest sturdy branch under me. "Just start."

"Okay." She clears her throat. "So, Fin and I saw Plague Control leaving your mother's place earlier. No one is dead or taken - you have my words on it - but they re-marked the door."

"With another X?" The slight tension which remains in my head gradually goes away. "Thought you were about to say they'd been taken."

"It might be worse than that, for all we know." Jo's voice sounds light, yet edgy. "Filthy Plague Control drew a new mark. An X, with a vertical line in the middle. Fin told me it means 'special case'."

_ Special case._

The tension in my head comes back, and so does the blinding ache.

"I'll go to L.A. Central," I say, holding tightly onto the tree trunk. "They might have the cure already."

"They _have_ the cure," Jo corrects me, cold and sharp. "They would've handed it out to the Gem Sector trots by now."

"How do you know?" I ask her through my headache, hoping the pain doesn't show in my voice.

She grows quiet. I think I've caught her off-guard with that. Jo has never shared anything about her past, apart from that familiar tale of failing her Trial and escaping her subsequent death. Yet I know that she had most likely been a Gem Sector girl before she failed, those faint traces of poise, pride, posh words, and insider's knowledge in her. She probably still has some living family in whichever Gem Sector she came from. It's obvious in the way she avoids those sectors, and in the way she puts that extra care to hide her real face. Jo bleaches her hair, turning it from a dark brown to a pale blond. Whenever she can find contacts at the black market, she'll wear them to turn her golden brown eyes blue like mine. Every now and then, she'll draw fake scars on her face. It's as if she doesn't want anyone to ever draw connections between Jo Mason and the little girl who 'died' nine years ago.

"I'll come with you," Jo changes the topic, dragging out a breath. I hear rustling and a swish, and suddenly she's on my tree, perching on the branch below mine. "Now, because Fin is _sometimes_ right, we need a plan."

* * *

**Now, tell me that I'm cracked ;).**


	2. Chapter 2

**June**

_Drake University,_  
_Batalla Sector, Los Angeles,_  
_November 30_  
_14:03 HRS_  
_68F_

These curious Sophomores can't be more obvious about their spying.

I can see them following our entourage of six with their eyes, even under their 'talking' pretense. Stolen glances from corners of eyes, approximately once in twenty seconds. Stiff hands, hanging loosely on their sides. Loud, fake laughters. The slight craning of their necks when we eventually walk past them. They could just ogle at us, and it would be all the same. I bet my five companions have known, by now, that we are being watched.

Well, this isn't actually new. On an average semester, Tris, Katniss, and I will get ourselves into this kind of big trouble twice. Tris's guardian-turned-husband Tobias, Katniss's cousin Gale, and my brother Metias must have learned their drill by now. Buzz the Dean Secretary's office. Walk to said office. Apologize to Ms. Whittaker for the trouble. Collect ward. Walk back to car, ignore all unknown persons. Drive ward home. Make sure ward stays home. Go back to work.

It is a major distraction from their routine, but I doubt Tobias and Gale actually mind this as much as Metias does. I don't think they mind the unnecessary attention, too. They understand how appealing the sight of our group is to some students.

First, there are the three handsome, tall, dark-haired young soldiers. Metias (twenty seven years old, City Patrol Captain) with his long lashes and golden-glinted eyes. Gale (twenty two years old, Lieutenant, the best shooter in Metias's patrol) with buzzed hair, olive skin, steely gray eyes, and an impressive height. Tobias (twenty one years old, Lieutenant, another of Metias's best soldiers) with short-cropped hair, strong jaw, dark blue eyes, and a dauntless air around him. These three alone should have been enough to grab those giggling girls's attention and get boys to secretly look on in envy.

Then, there are also the three of us girls, the best students and most notorious troublemakers in senior year. Probably the most inspirational orphans too, the tragic cases to be occasionally pitied. I've long figured out what these other students think about, whenever they see the three of us.

'_Goodness_, _I don't know what Katniss's mother was thinking about. Overdosing on pills! Sure, her husband and her little girl were dead - but did she not think about her surviving daughter? Good thing Katniss turned out alright - well, mostly._'

'_I can't imagine how it must've been for Tris. She was there when that robber gunned her parents down! Oh, and do you know that her brother's not talking to her anymore? Something about their Belief. Their parents were Factioners.'_

'_Poor June. She was barely a toddler when that car wreck happened. I'd be really, really sad if I never knew my parents. Then, her sister... Well, I think I know why June is so hostile. Poor little girl._'

I bet the next thing those other students ponder about, once they're done with their pity-fest, is how on earth Katniss, Tris, and I managed to be friends. Most of them probably didn't see what happened on my first day at Drake, when Katniss and Tris - then sixteen and Sophomores - stood by twelve-year-old me after I'd gotten into a fight with a bully. Very few probably realized that Metias, Gale, and Tobias were already members of the same City Patrol by then, and that I'd met the girls several times before, at those dinners Our Glorious Elector hosted for the Republic's Prodigies. Katniss, Tris, and I are birds of a feather, to quote an old saying. Smart and strong, with good genes and high (a perfect 1500/1500 in my case) Trial scores.

"I'm sure you understood what you were doing, June." Metias turns to me, when we are finally out of the building. He glances behind us, at his two subordinates and my two friends who tail us. "What were you thinking about?"

"Well." I glance at the two jeeps parked before us (standard military jeeps, five seaters, City Patrol vehicles), one empty and one with a driver I know well. "We were bored, so I suggested a productive way to spend our lunch break. That's about all."

Metias gives me a look, and exhales. Looks like he's decided to keep whatever he has to say for later, when my friends and their guardians are out of earshot.

"Take Katniss and Tris to my apartment." He turns his head toward Gale and Tobias, who have positioned themselves next to the empty jeep. "I'll meet you there."

The young men salute Metias, and get into the jeep. I would've asked Metias if I could go with them instead, if only I didn't know how sad and angry I've made him. Metias really feared for my life. I can see it in his tense shoulders, in his fogged-up eyes, in everything he isn't saying.

He must be thinking about our dead parents and sister, again.

"I don't understand what you were trying to achieve," Metias says, as soon as we are in his jeep with Thomas, the soldier behind the steering wheel. "I'd been dealing with Patriot rebels all morning, and now this... June, answer me. Why did you take your friends out at lunchtime and make them scale a high-rise with you?"

From the rearview mirror, I can see Katniss and Tris on the back seat of the other jeep. They are talking to Tobias and Gale, throwing their heads back and laughing. Looks like they indeed had fun scaling that high-rise with me. "I told you, Metias. We were bored. This university should stop being too paranoid about its students going out."

"You took seven guns out between the three of you." Metias twists and looks at me. "Did you even think of what would happen, if the Street Phantoms got their hands on those?"

"Street Phantoms don't shoot," I point out, leaning back as Thomas drives us off. The aptly-named Street Phantoms are just a bunch of mysterious petty criminals from the poor sectors. They are not malicious, just irritating. Most probably, they just need money. "They steal money and food, rob businesses and people, and sometimes vandalize Republic properties, but they've never used guns. It's always been blade weapons and home-made explosives."

"Ms. Iparis," Thomas pipes up, clearing his throat. "The Street Phantoms are opportunistic criminals. They might just be waiting for the opportunity to get their hands on an untracked gun."

_Flawed logic_. If the Street Phantoms wanted a gun, they would just go and steal it from any ignorant street police. Evidence of their past crimes showed that they are a group of highly intelligent individuals. Overriding the tracking and fingerprinting mechanism we use on guns shouldn't be too hard for those smart scums.

"They're just street rats," I say, as I glance at the training field outside the window. The afternoon drill has resumed, after that brief interruption when those guards pulled me and my friends out. I spot some of my close acquaintances (three girls, two boys, mostly Tris's friends who sometimes hang around with Katniss and I as well) among the group of Seniors running with their guns in their hands. They look so courageous, so spirited, that I have to try hard to resist the temptation to scream their names out of the window - like what Tris is doing now. My brother is already upset. I don't need to make him even more upset. He is all I have in the world, apart from my friends and my dog.

Metias sighs, and gives me this stern look. "We'll talk more about this at home," he decides, turning back to the driveway before us. I can see that wrought iron gate from here. We are almost out of the campus. "You were lucky no one thought you were the Street Phantoms."

I guess he is kind of right. That doesn't mean I regret scaling that high-rise, though. It was great fun.

We lose sight of the other jeep at the first intersection we drive to, and Los Angeles traffic is - as usual - really bad, even on the highway. What should take thirty minutes tops in clear traffic takes Thomas fifty minutes to drive. When Metias and I finally reach our Ruby Sector apartment, the rest of the group are outside the front door already.

"Shortcuts," Gale explains with a smile, as I frown at them. He points his thumb at Tobias, who leans casually against the wall. "This guy knows his way around L.A."

Or, in other words, _this guy drove us through back alleys and floored through traffic lights in the last second._

"Come on in," Metias says, unlocking the door. "We don't have much time."

"_You _don't have much time," I correct him. "You're always busy."

He stops fiddling with the lock, and turns around to pull me into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Junebug." He kisses my forehead, gentle and loving as he has always been, and glances above my head, at Tobias and Gale. "Tonight should be our last night shift for the next few weeks. Right, Lieutenants?"

"Your brother's right, June," Gale reassures me, clapping my back lightly as Metias releases me. "We'll make sure he comes home as soon as the shift ends."

"As soon as Commander Jameson allows," Tobias corrects, stepping forward. He turns and catches my eyes. "You know how the woman is."

_Old hag, _I see Gale mouthing, as I glance up at him.

Tris chuckles, and I even hear Katniss snorting. It's no secret that Gale and Tobias despise Commander Jameson, the stern woman who commands Metias's patrol and several others.

"All of you," Metias orders, looking over his shoulder. "Stop making fun of Commander Jameson. Come in."

There is a hint of a smile in his eyes, though. Looks like he agrees, after all.

We walk into the apartment, and close the door behind us. Ollie, my white german shepherd, trots over to us as we enter the living room. We take turns patting his head, and head toward the living room. There are two couches there, arranged around a coffee table. The girls and I squeeze ourselves on one of the couches, just like we normally do. Unlike usual, though, Metias doesn't take his spot on the other couch. He disappears into his bedroom instead, leaving us with Gale and Tobias who are equally as clueless.

"Have you been taking Metias to Greasy Sae's?" Katniss, who sits on the opposite end of my couch, looks up at Gale. "He's acting a bit funny."

"We have been, actually." Gale grins at his lookalike-cousin, over the coffee table. "And trust me, Catnip, he loves the soup."

"What kind of soup it is?" Tris pipes up, shifting a little on the spot. I feel a bit sorry for her. The three of us girls are actually on the small side. Being squashed between Katniss and I on this two-seater couch, however, must still be rather uncomfortable.

"You'll never know." Katniss scowls, then smiles a little. "People say she sometimes chucks in..."

She trails off and turns her head to the window next to her, tugging her dark braid absent-mindedly. I can guess what she's about to say, though. I caught her glancing at my dog, just before she turned away.

"Where's this Greasy Sae's place?" I scrunch up my nose, appalled by the idea of eating _any _dog.

"Corner Alta and Lake," Tobias answers from his corner of the living room (one hundred and forty degrees anti-clockwise, two metres away from this couch). "It's in one of those bars."

A poor sector dining room. No wonder they serve dog meat in a soup. They probably can't afford to serve proper meat.

"How did you find that place?" I ask. "It's out of your patrol area."

No one answers me. Judging that sharp glare between Katniss and Gale, though, they must've been the first ones to find that place. Perhaps they'd chanced upon it while exploring L.A. as newcomers, and decided to try their luck with it. Who knows what their twelve and nine year old selves were thinking about back then.

Metias chooses that moment to walk out of his bedroom, so I let the dog soup topic slide. It's not of great importance, anyway. Metias has brought something out for us, a box (12" x 16", glossy cardboard, with an old-fashioned lid which can be taken off completely) which he tucks under his arm. We look at him quietly as he sets the box down on the coffee table, and joins his soldiers at their corner. I meet my brother's eyes as he takes this long look at me, and follow them around the room as he glances at our friends.

"Katniss and Tris." He turns to my friends. "I'll need your help tonight. Would you stay here with June?"

"Sure."

"Sure."

Metias shoots them a grateful smile.

"Now," he says, turning to Gale and Tobias. "We need to go. But..."

He pauses and frowns for a fleeting moment, most likely checking that his microphone is off. Satisfied that it is, he finishes up, "... we'll have to talk about something tonight. All of us."

So, that is why he wants my friends to stay. I wonder what is that pressing, that important that he can't even wait until tomorrow to share it with _us_.

"I'll walk you downstairs." I get up quickly, as the boys begin leaving. "I'll miss you all tonight."

"No," says Metias. "Stay in here."

He sounds so serious, so afraid about it that it's painful. I walk up to him and let him kiss my forehead.

"Be careful," I say.

"Love you, Junebug."

He doesn't even confirm that he'll be careful and stay safe.

I stand there quietly, watching him walking toward our front door. Gale tails behind him, mouthing a _see you later _to us girls. He is out before we can respond, and the door closes behind him.

"You should go, too," I hear Tris telling Tobias. Looking over my shoulder, I see them in an intimate embrace. I walk back to the couch, and join Katniss there, giving the newlyweds some kind of privacy. Katniss is, of course, looking away. At nineteen, she is still as pure as ever. I wonder if she will change once she has a boyfriend - the way Tris did, after Tobias and her were together - or if Katniss's poor boy will have to do with just holding hands and nothing more.

"I should, probably," Tobias tells his young wife after a kiss. His serious face hardens, as if something terrible has crossed his mind. He releases Tris, and looks at Katniss and I.

"I need you to keep an eye on the door," he then turns back to Tris. "If you see or hear anything unusual, you must get everyone out of here. Understand?"

Tris nods, her blue-gray eyes burning with a strange resolve. "Understood."

Tobias takes a breath, glances at Katniss and I, and adds, "do not trust Thomas Bryant."

"And why?" I ask, for all of us. Thomas is perhaps Metias's best friend. I've known Thomas since I was really young, longer than I've known the girls, or Gale and Tobias.

"Just don't trust him." Tobias spins around and strides toward the door. "You know where his loyalty lies."

And then he, too, is gone, leaving us girls with an empty house, a dog, and a mystery box on the table.

"... I'll make sandwiches and tea for us," Tris says, after some long seconds. She reaches back behind her head and pulls her dirty blonde hair out of her simple bun. "I'll see if we have all we need to make a chocolate cake, too. It's going to be a long night."

"You don't have to," I mutter to her.

Too late. She has walked to the kitchen, like the selfless friend that she is.

"You should go change." Katniss nudges me gently. "I'll go and see if I can help with the cooking."

"Yes Mom," I salute her.

She chuckles, and loops her arms around me. I loop my arms back around her, eager for that familiar comfort. At times like this, I can pretend that she is my big sister, and she can pretend that I'm her little sister. It is sad, but this is the best that we can do to be with our dead sisters again.

"Go." Katniss releases me, after what feels like forever.

"I'll be quick," I promise her, as I get up and make my way to my room.

My room is still the same room I left this morning, with a double bed, a wardrobe, a desk with a laptop and a light, a chair, and a nightstand with pictures. Despite my promise to Katniss, I find myself sitting on my bed, running my hand on the right half I rarely sleep on. My left hand reaches for one of the framed pictures on the nightstand. I know it is the right picture, even when I'm not looking. I've reached for it too many times now.

"Hey," I whisper, as I look down at it. "How are you?"

I wish I can hear my sister's answer. But the room remains silent, and I'm here on my own, with a picture of two dark-haired little girls on a park bench. The girl on the left was younger, clearly shorter, and chubby with baby fat. She had her arms outstretched, straining in an effort to stop the older girl's merciless tickling. They were both laughing, so I can't see their eyes. Had their eyes been open, though, I know the girl on the left would have the dark, golden glinted eyes staring right back at me in the mirror every day. And the girl on the right would have these golden-brown eyes, wide and innocent and alive with the joy she carried around with her.

I close my eyes, and wipe the single tear I cry for the girl with golden-brown eyes, my long dead sister. She is the reason why Metias is always sad. She is the reason why our home always feels empty, the reason why my life is they way it is right now. The reason why being friends with Katniss and Tris feels as bitter as it is sweet, as sad as it is joyful.

If my sister were alive today, she would be nineteen like Katniss and Tris. We would all be classmates at Drake, and my sister would give me a hard time about it because I'm supposed to be four years behind her. She would still help me with everything, though, because we were sisters. Because we _are _sisters.

But Hannah never made it to Drake. She didn't even make it to her Trial. The Agent who handled the case told us that Hannah had sneaked out of the line at the Trial Stadium, wandered off into the ocean, and drowned.

My sister died on her tenth birthday. And the only thing left to cremate, when the time came, was one of the leather boots she had worn when she left our apartment for her Trial.

"June?" I hear Katniss calling, outside my bedroom door.

"Yes?" I answer, putting the frame back in place.

"Tris wants to know what you want in your sandwich."

"Chicken," I say, as I throw a last glance at Hannah's picture and get up to change. Hannah belongs to my past. I should leave her there, and go and live my present. There is little use in wondering what would have been. It is sentimental and weak. "I'll come out in a bit. Sorry for keeping you waiting."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! And thanks to Reader for their review. I couldn't wait, too, to get June's chapter out :).**


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